Can't Get Back From Here
by Revell
Summary: Thrown together by chance, drawn together by fate. In this world left dark and bare compared to the white lights of that room, they need to learn life's most basic lessons over again... [Adam x Lawrence, AU, NOT Saw II or Saw III compliant]
1. Prologue

_Author's Notes:   
This fic is set to contain slash (Adam/Lawrence); while there is none now, it will happen. Please do not flame me for this.   
This is also an AU, to some degree, although I'm trying my hardest to have it make sense._

**Prologue**

Adam screamed.

He screamed until he was hoarse, until something in the back of his throat felt as though it snapped like an old rubber band. And when his voice gave out on him he knelt in the dark. His first thought, strangely enough, was _Larry._

Larry. Lawrence. Dr. Gordon. Hell, he didn't know what to call him now. He was probably dead; if not, he was bleeding to death pretty damn fast.

It occurred to him that he was alone in the dark with a dead body. He had long ago learned not to be afraid of the dead – _why worry about the dead? It's the living you should be worried about _– but now that he had seen the killer, this bald fuck of a man get up and peel brain matter off of his head, sudden Dead Man Walking, well...

He shifted, sitting down and trying to will himself not to start up a new crescendo of screams. He kicked something, something firm, something next to Zep's body, as he stretched his legs out.

_Power gun_.

Holy shit. He might be still be saved.

_Larry. Save your ass first, then get to Larry._

He dropped down to his stomach, stretching out and groping for the gun. He was starting to be able to see a bit better in the dark, dim outlines of shapes, and he soon had his hand curled around it. He picked it up and pushed himself back into a sitting position.

He pushed himself back, sliding along the blood-slicked floor, feeling the blood seep into his jeans, wet and squelchy. When he had pulled back far enough, about level with the ancient, rusted bathtub, he made sure the chain could go no further. Then he aimed at the pipe and the lock holding him fast to it, and he shot. The kick sent pain searing through his shoulder, the one with the bullet still lodged in it.

No give in the chain.

He didn't dare aim at the lock on his shackle, for fear of shooting himself in the dark. He shot again, this time hearing the sound of metal giving way. The chain suddenly fell slack, and he jumped to his feet. His jeans slapped wetly against his legs, but he didn't care.

_Freedom._

_Larry. Get. To. Larry._

He picked the chain up, wrapping it around his shoulders and left arm. It was heavy, but it would be easier to carry it than to drag it around.

It amazed him, how fucking levelheaded he was being.

When he had secured the chain around his body, he started to make his way to the door. His foot hit something solid – _Zep_, he registered – and he nearly went sprawling. As it was, he stumbled forward a few paces, and the weight of the chain threatened to drag him to the floor. But he kept moving, as quickly as his body would allow. His ankle was raw where he had been electrocuted, and it hurt to put weight on it, but he was beyond caring about that.

He reached the far wall, again connecting with something solid – he didn't even want to think about what _that_ might be – and felt his way to the door. He dug into the crease between the door and the far wall, amazed when he felt some give. Apparently, Jigsaw hadn't bothered to lock the fucking door.

_Never assume I'm screwed, man_, thought Adam as he worked the door open far enough for himself to slip through. He cast around, the greenish light in the abandoned corridor hurting his eyes.

He heard something to his left, an odd sort of moaning sound. Willing himself not to shriek like a little girl at the first strains of the sound, he started in that direction.

Sure enough, he found Larry – Lawrence – Dr. Gordon – whatever the fuck, it didn't really matter – sprawled on the ground near a ladder of some sort. Adam could see stars through the opening above that ladder.

"Larry," he said, his voice no more than a harsh whisper. "You're fucking alive."

"They need me," Lawrence said, looking dazed.

"Shit, no. You need a hospital." Adam knelt on the ground next to Lawrence, wrapping Lawrence's arm around his neck and his own arm around Lawrence's waist. He stood up as quickly as he could without staggering. The ladder, plainly, was out of the question. "There's got to be another way out of here," he said, half-carrying, half-dragging Lawrence down the corridor.

Sure enough, he came to a stairwell. Lawrence's head lolled sickeningly against his shoulder as he started up the steps, and more than once he nearly fell; Lawrence was suddenly nothing more than dead weight. He shuddered inwardly and swore at himself for making that comparison.

"Come on, man, you've got to do something or we're both going to fucking fall," said Adam, his voice shaking and higher-pitched than was normal. _This is taking too long, it's a wonder he's not dead yet._

_Well, actually, _said another, nastier part of himself, _he might be._


	2. Chains

The hospital loomed ahead in all its red brick glory.

Adam kept looking in the rearview mirror of Zep's van, his hands sweating and shaking on the leather of the steering wheel. Lawrence was sprawled out carelessly on the backseat, and Adam was trying his hardest not to scream or send them both careening into a tree or...something.

He could hear Lawrence murmuring to himself. He had started doing that about halfway up the stairs, talking about the cold and his family and where the hell was this'Diana' when Adam needed her? But just the same, he was grateful for Lawrence's talking. It meant he was still alive. Barely, but still alive.

"You just keep talking, man, we're almost there," said Adam, pulling gracelessly into the parking area reserved for ambulances, directly in front of what he assumed was the emergency room or triage or whatever the fuck they called it these days.

He jumped down from the driver's seat of the van, seeing several orderlies running up to him – _You can't park there, man_ – and he ran around to the other side of the van, yanking it open. He reached inside and grabbed Lawrence, pulling him out of the van, and nearly dropping him when he failed to respond any more than moaning slightly.

Adam noted, with grim satisfaction, the looks on the orderlies' faces changing from _What__ the hell _to _Holy mother of God._

He could hear the chain still wrapped around his body clinking heavily as he handed Lawrence over to the orderlies, who had him in the hospital faster than he could have managed to make it. One of them stayed behind with him, walking him into the hospital and giving him incredulous looks as he tried to explain exactly why in hell Dr. Gordon was missing half his leg and why he looked like the fucking Ghost of Marley, covered in chains and blood.

_It would help if my goddamned voice would cooperate_, he thought bitterly. He sounded crazy enough as it was without it cracking as though he was some sort of prepubescent kid.

"And your shoulder? What happened there?"

"Look, can we just get this chain the hell off and then I'll explain?" said Adam, pushing one of the swinging doors open with his good arm. The pristine white of the hospital floor had large, disturbingly red streaks in it.

_Larry._

Adam crossed to one of the first triage beds he saw and jumped onto it. The chain smacked heavily against his back and arms, and he wished he hadn't.

One of the nurses that had been watching this whole procession – first Dr. Gordon, now Adam with the orderly in tow – stood up and hurried over to him, then started to unwrap the chain from Adam's body. He could feel the impressions left by the bite of the metal before she even had it all halfway off.

"Can you tell me how this all happened?" she said quietly. Her voice was soothing, Adam supposed, but really...nothing was going to soothe him after the hell he had just gone through.

"I just told him," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the orderly.

"I see," she said. "Well, my name is Lita, and I'm here to help you, okay?"

"Can we just cut the bullshit? My - " he broke off, unsure of what to call Lawrence. "_Dr. Gordon_ is here somewhere, he's probably going to die, I just went through utter hell, and _can someone remove the goddamned chain_, because frankly, I'm sick of dragging this shit around." Adam's voice was starting to come back to him, firm and slightly loud.

"Yes," said Lita, looking down at the heavy shackle around his ankle. "And can you explain to us what happened to Dr. Gordon?"

"He cut his own fucking foot off!" exclaimed Adam, realizing after it was out that it was probably too loud for the room. This was confirmed by the horrified stares from people in the room across the hall, looking at him through the windowed wall. However, he was beyond caring who he disturbed at this point. What he cared about was the fact that he had probably thrown his voice out again.

"Look," he said, trying to calm himself down slightly for his _own_ sake. "Don't bother getting a fucking saw for the chain, it's not going to work. We _tried_ that. Just get a fucking locksmith, and - "

"Take your shirt off, please."

"_What_?" And his voice was dead again, a pathetic squeak coming out at the end of the word.

"Take your shirt off; we need to examine your shoulder."

And the reference to his shoulder somehow bit through the anger and frustration, reminding Adam that he was sitting in a hospital with a chain attached to his ankle and a bullet in his shoulder, completely and utterly _alive_. He closed his eyes, laughing, making Lita jump back in surprise. He shifted, leaning away from the side with the bullet in it, and started to pull his shirt off. He kept his eyes closed, wincing as the shirt peeled away from the wound, and flung it on the bed. The shirt had once been white; now it was filthy and varying shades of red and grey, disgusting against the glaringly white sheets of the hospital.

And as he was examined and asked still more questions he couldn't answer because either his mind or his voice wouldn't allow, his thoughts were still on Lawrence.


	3. Arrangement

Adam had spent the last week in the hospital.

It wasn't because he was particularly wounded, or that they felt he needed to be observed. If anything, he needed to be committed to the psych ward and observed there, but he obviously wasn't a danger to himself, so that wasn't going to fly. No, he had spent the last week in the hospital because he refused to go back to that shithole apartment in the middle of town.

Lita had arranged for him to sleep up on the ninth floor; it was a mostly empty ward with the occasional nurse stopping in to check on him. Not like there was much to check on. He spent his time curled up on the bed, or sitting in a chair near the window, looking out at the city below.

He asked how Lawrence was from time to time; mostly he got nothing but a cryptic smile and the assurance that Dr. Gordon was doing well. He couldn't get details because of several goddamned laws that kept the concerned out.

Morbid curiosity soon got the better of him. After the week was over and gone, he got in the elevator at the end of the hall.

He tapped his fingers against his thigh; his jeans had been cleaned, but the bloodstains lingered. He would have to go back to his apartment eventually to get clothes, but he would prefer not to do that alone, if at all.

The elevator dinged pleasantly, signaling its arrival on the sixth floor. Adam made his way past the intensive care unit, and to the nurses' station near the regular ward.

"Yeah, I'm here to see Lawrence Gordon," he said quietly.

He was given a friendly smile and a point in the right direction, and he soon found himself standing outside Room 66.

Room 66 on the sixth floor, making this entire combination...

Adam smirked to himself, then knocked on the door before pushing it open.

"Adam," said Lawrence, who looked somehow unsurprised to see him. "What are you doing here?"

"That's it?" said Adam. "No 'Hey, Adam, I'm happy to see you'?" He pulled up a chair next to Lawrence's bedside, an old thing covered in cracked material.

"Fine," said Lawrence. "Adam, I'm happy to see you."

Adam watched as Lawrence focused his gaze, not on his face, but rather on the disturbingly cheerful floral pattern on the curtains surrounding them. "How's your shoulder?" Lawrence said finally.

Adam glanced at his shoulder, one hand coming up to touch the area where a bullet had been lodged a week ago. "It's good," he said, shrugging slightly. "Damaged a few muscles, it'll take a while to get full movement, but at least-" Adam managed to stop himself before "at least I didn't have to cut off my foot" came spilling out of his mouth.

"How's your family?" he said instead, looking down at the sheet covering Lawrence's legs and picking at the chair, digging into the cracked stuff the hospital tried to pull off as leather or vinyl or whatever the fuck it was supposed to be.

Lawrence looked at him in a way that made it plain that the unspoken words had come through perfectly clear. "They're recovering."

Adam sighed slightly, a closed-mouth sigh that puffed out his cheeks as the word "Good" came out on the exhale. "Look, Larry," he said, a bit louder now. "I didn't exactly come here to shoot the shit. I mean, I'm glad you're fine and all..." He trailed off, realizing that neither of them was exactly fine – Adam was living on the ninth floor like the fucking Hunchback of Mercy Hospital, and Lawrence was out of half his leg.

"And?" said Lawrence, still looking at the floral curtains in front of him.

"I was wondering if you had a guest room or something. I'll pay you rent." Adam left off the "when I can get it," knowing that might be a while, if ever.

Lawrence turned his head, looking Adam in the face. "You don't want to go back."

For a moment Adam considered denying it; he looked away and swore quietly. The denial was practically out of his mouth before he realized that there would be no point. He had spent his life denying things, and this was the one man who managed to somehow see everything, get the truth to come out, and if anything Lawrence deserved the truth, at least this time.

"Yeah," Adam said quietly. "I don't want anything to do with that place, I don't want to see it again. It scares the fuck out of me, Larry." He looked back at Lawrence, who was nodding slightly, looking down at the sheets.

"So..." Adam continued. "Do you have a place or not?" If he didn't, it looked like Adam's only other option would be a hotel, and he didn't know exactly how much he liked the idea of a hotel.

"Yeah," said Lawrence. "Yeah, I have a guest room."

"That's great," said Adam; his voice was almost perfectly flat. "That's really great. When do you think you'll be out of here?"

"Due to extensive blood loss and pain treatments-"

"Larry. Save me the doctor bullshit."

Lawrence blinked. "I don't know. Soon."

Adam sighed slightly, knowing it would probably be a while.


	4. Homecoming

Adam probably should have taken the bus.

He watched as Lawrence got into the car, his weight coming down a bit more heavily on the right side. He had a prosthetic now; a fake foot and a jarring walk and god_damn_, Adam should have taken the bus. Instead he had opted to take Lawrence's emotionless invitation to ride with his family to the house or apartment or whatever the fuck he would be calling home now. He opened the door to the backseat and slid in next to Lawrence's little girl – Diana, that was her name, wasn't it? Either way, she looked like she hadn't smiled since this whole thing had gone to shit.

He looked at her for a moment; he could smell various hair care products, like someone had taken her to a salon and dumped everything in the place on the poor kid's head. He imagined she had just gotten a haircut – _have to look nice for Daddy, don't we?_ – and Adam looked away, shifting his legs slightly. The car was large but the backseat somehow still managed to be cramped.

Lawrence was talking to his wife in a low voice, asking her if she'd be okay driving through the city, and Adam almost laughed at the idiocy of it all. Lawrence was in no way able to drive, and Adam wasn't about to drive for her. No, the wife sort of had to be okay.

The wife – Mrs. Gordon - didn't say anything during the entire drive; every now and then she looked around in virtually every direction before making a turn, reminding Adam vaguely of that possessed kid in _The Exorcist_. She had smiled at Adam before getting into the car; the smile had been cold, an _I_ _want nothing to do with you_ smile, but Adam didn't care. At this point, why should he? He would just be grateful for a bed without rails.

They got out of the car, Mrs. Gordon going around to the passenger side and gripping Lawrence's arm, insisting on helping him up even when he insisted that he didn't need it. Adam got out of the car, not bothering to see if Diana did the same, and looked up at the large brick building in front of them.

"_Damn_," said Adam, for lack of anything better to say.

Lawrence gave him a slightly rueful smile. "You don't have to look so impressed."

"Are you kidding? You live in a fucking palace."

Lawrence's expression grew stern, and he tipped his head in the direction of his daughter, who was coming toward them around the back of the car. Adam nodded, then turned back to the building.

"You don't have any luggage," said Lawrence, sounding utterly unsurprised.

"Yeah, well," said Adam, shrugging; it was all he said, and all that he really needed to say.

Lawrence rolled his eyes, then followed his wife into the building; Adam went in after him, looking around as he went. "You guys live...where?"

"Upstairs," said Lawrence. "It's an elevated one-story."

"Wonderful. How the hell are you supposed to-"

Lawrence ignored him and started up the stairs, leaning against the handrail.

Adam watched him, then glanced behind him. The little girl was staring at him. "What?" he said.

Diana didn't say anything.

Adam started up the stairs after Lawrence, following him into the house and muttering about creepy-ass kids with big eyes and hair that smelled like a shampoo factory.

Mrs. Gordon was waiting by the door. When all of them were inside, she closed and locked it behind them. Adam could see Lawrence twitch, actually physically _twitch_, and he was almost certain that he had done the same thing. It was an understandable thing to do, since she had been through a shitstorm nearly as bad as they had, but still...

"Larry," she said, and Adam took the Very Fucking Serious tone in her voice as a cue to try to find the guest room on his own.

He started down the hall, pressing on doors. The first led him to the little girl's room. He closed it again, pressing on another door down the hall.

The master bedroom, he assumed, considering it was larger than his previous apartment. He stared at it for a moment, then noticed the suitcases on the bed. One larger, one smaller – for Mrs. Gordon and her daughter.

Wonderful.

Adam started back down the hall, stopping outside the living room.

"I'm sorry," she was saying. "You understand that...Diana hasn't slept, I haven't slept. You should leave too. You and him."

For a moment Lawrence didn't say anything. Adam held his breath, not wanting to walk in on what was going on.

"I love you, Ally," he said finally. Mrs. Gordon sighed.

"I love you, too," she said. "But we just can't..."

"I know."

Adam could hear footsteps coming his way; he pushed open a door to the left and dodged inside, closing the door partway. He was relieved to find himself in what looked like the guest room, just slightly smaller than the master bedroom.

He could hear Mrs. Gordon come back with the suitcases, could hear Lawrence saying goodbye to his little girl; the door slid shut and then he couldn't hear anything else.

He came out of the guest room like nothing had happened.

"Hey, Larry," he said. "I can't find any fucking pillows." It was an inane thing to have said, but it was the first thing that came to his mind.

Lawrence was sitting on the couch, his head buried in his hands.

"You okay?"

"They left," he said quietly; he didn't offer an explanation, not like Adam needed one at this point.

"Tough break, man," said Adam; it wasn't that he was trying to be unsympathetic, exactly, but...

"Yeah," said Lawrence, obviously fighting to keep his voice under control. "The pillows are in the linen closet."

"Which closet? You've got about five thousand doors down that hall."

Lawrence finally looked up at him, face almost masklike. "I'll show you."

Adam let Lawrence leave, following a few paces behind him. Lawrence seemed slightly more skittish at this arrangement; Adam didn't blame him for not wanting someone directly behind him, but just the same, he couldn't help but feel slightly...not offended, really; more like challenged.

Lawrence jerked one of the doors open, and was promptly attacked by at least three pillows falling haphazardly out of the closet. Adam stepped back apprehensively, and they both looked at each other, then the closet.

"It's...pillows," said Adam finally.

"I see that," Lawrence said.

"You didn't have that fucker in a pig mask jump out from _your_ closet."

"Point taken."

There was silence then.

"Look, I'm sorry about your family, okay?" said Adam, sounding as though he had been asked to apologize for something he didn't do. "But you have to admit that she's being kind of a bitch. Even after you...did that for them, she still leaves?"

"I know why she left, Adam."

"That doesn't make it right, Larry," snapped Adam. He reached out and tried to slam the closet door shut; it caught on one of the pillows on the floor and didn't close.

Lawrence reached out and gripped Adam's shoulder; he meant to push him away from the linen closet, to calm him down, to make him stop...he meant to do any one of those things, but he froze as soon as contact was made.

Adam's eyes widened quickly; he could feel Lawrence's hand on his shoulder – not the bad shoulder; that probably would have made him snap completely. As it was, he felt himself begin to shake. The last time they had made contact was...

_I have to go...if I don't...I'll bleed to death..._

_Don't go, Larry, don't..._

_I'll come back for you...I'll bring help...I promise._

His entire body was quivering like a fucking leaf, and Lawrence was just _standing_ there, eyes closed; his hand was tightening on Adam's shoulder, and before he could stop himself Adam had jerked away from Lawrence's touch.

"Don't _do_ that!" said Adam, a bit louder than he had intended. The sound echoed in the empty hallway, making both of them flinch.

Lawrence moved as though he was going to say something.

"Don't say anything. Just don't fucking say anything."

Lawrence stared at him for a second, then bent and tossed Adam one of the pillows that had been on the floor. He then retreated into the master bedroom, shutting the door roughly behind him.


	5. All Of This

Night fell, and neither one of them slept.

Adam lay in the guest room; it was apparently just outside of Lawrence's study, because he could hear the clacking of the keys on Lawrence's computer. He didn't want to go in there.

He sat up, pushing the covers back – whoever used a comforter in the summer had to be insane anyway – and made his way into the kitchen. Lawrence's painkillers were sitting on the table, and the liquor cabinet was to the left.

Adam pulled the liquor cabinet open and pulled out a bottle of whiskey, staring at the label for a moment before whistling, long and slow. He set the bottle down on the counter and started looking for a glass. He found coffee mugs in the first cabinet he opened; he shrugged, pulled one down, and poured out some of the alcohol.

"What are you doing?"

Adam was grateful that he still had the mug on the counter; he was positive that he would have dropped it. He hadn't heard Lawrence behind him, and as it was he jumped.

"_Jesus_, Larry," he said, turning around. Lawrence was standing by the table, looking at him oddly. "Way to scare the shit out of me."

Lawrence didn't apologize; he didn't say anything. He picked up the painkillers from the kitchen table and opened the container, crossing to the kitchen sink and grabbing one of the coffee mugs from the still-opened cabinet. He took two pills quickly and chased them with water, swallowing hard.

"You want to sit down?" Lawrence said, gesturing toward the table.

"Yeah," said Adam; his breathing had returned to normal by now, and he picked up the mug with both hands, nearly sloshing some over the edges. He followed Lawrence to the kitchen table and sat down in the chair across from him.

Adam drank some of the whiskey, feeling the familiar burning on the way down. It really was good; the price hadn't lied. "Are you drinking this stuff," said Adam, "or making an investment? This is some expensive shit. Tell me that wasn't a comma in the price."

Lawrence ignored him, sitting with his hands folded on the table and staring at nothing in particular.

"Hey," said Adam. "You all right?"

"Go back to bed, Adam," Lawrence said quietly. He didn't make eye contact with Adam when he said it; it was a simple command, but there was no way in hell Adam would follow it.

"You know that's not happening," Adam said irritably. His hands slipped off of the mug, finding the grained wood of the table. He brushed against it with his fingertips; he seemed so much more aware of touch, of texture now that everything wasn't smooth, disgusting tile and cement.

The silence was awkward after Adam's statement.

"Larry," Adam said finally. "I have a question."

"What is it?" Lawrence said, finally looking at him.

"Why didn't you..." The words were right there, _right fucking there_. He could practically taste the "Why didn't you kill me?" hovering on his lips; instead, he bit them back, looking away.

"Why didn't I what?" said Lawrence.

"Nothing," Adam said, forcing a smile. "Thanks for the drink." He got up and went back into the guest room, feeling the cold air hit him as soon as he opened the door. Lawrence had probably given him the coldest room in the house.

He could hear Lawrence move, going back into the study, and before long the typing had resumed.

Adam stood in the guest room for a moment before turning and walking back out, not going back toward the study or the kitchen, but down the hall. Lawrence had left the lights on in the hallway – neither of them were too willing to be in the dark – and Adam made his way down, pushing doors open as he went.

He was standing again in the girl's room; it was all teddy bears and dolls, a small bed and frilly curtains. Lawrence had plainly spoiled the shit out of the kid.

Adam's stomach turned. There was something welling up inside of him that strongly resembled anger, though he wasn't sure who it was directed to. Probably Mrs. Gordon, for up and leaving as soon as everything went bad, but at the same time he couldn't bring himself to blame her. Not really.

Adam closed the door behind him when he left the room, making his way into Lawrence's study. He made a small noise in his throat when he entered, more to let Lawrence know that he was there than anything else.

Lawrence turned around; Adam could see past him onto the laptop screen. Sites on the Jigsaw murders – police reports that had been posted, the news, so much shit that he couldn't quite believe it.

"What is it?" Lawrence said, breaking whatever hold the sites may have had on Adam.

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay?" He said it as though it had been demanded of him; Lawrence looked at him oddly but didn't answer. "You still upset?"

"I'm not-" Lawrence started.

"Yes, you are."

Lawrence sighed, then turned back to his computer screen. "I'm sorry you think that," he said quietly, keeping his back to Adam.

"Yeah, so am I," said Adam, "but you have to admit that you're not helping."

"It'll take time," Lawrence said. "To get used to all of this."

Adam thought for a moment, then turned to get another coffee mug full of whiskey.

After a moment, Lawrence joined him. They sat in silence, Adam drinking and Lawrence staring off into space; before long, the sun would come up, and their first awkward night would be behind them.


	6. Still Here

Lawrence shut himself in his bedroom after the sun came up.

"You going to sleep?" Adam asked him as he left.

"Yeah," said Lawrence; Adam didn't argue, even though he knew that sleeping was something easier said than done.

He spent his morning wandering around the house, not sure of where he was going or what he was doing, finally ending up sprawled across the couch in the living room. It was large and soft, and he tipped his head back, staring up at the ceiling. The fan made lazy circles above his head; he could feel the soft breeze against his face.

After a few minutes of this, Adam decided he was hungry.

He imagined that Lawrence had had a steady upbringing; he was either relatively old money or someone who had had the funds to get himself through medical school regardless. Adam's childhood apartment had contained himself, his mother, and his mother's incoming stream of boyfriends.

One had taught him to play baseball; one had given him a camera. And one had taught him to make popcorn on the stove. Before long the air was full of the scent of cooking popcorn; Adam watched it carefully, waiting with a large bowl next to him.

He heard Lawrence before he saw him; he made his way down the hall and stopped behind Adam.

"Popcorn?" Lawrence said.

"That _would_ be what this is," Adam said. "You have any salt?"

"The cupboard right above you."

Adam opened it, pulling the salt down.

"It smells good," Lawrence continued, voice emotionless.

Adam didn't answer, taking the pan off the stove and dumping the hot popcorn into the bowl.

"Why are you making popcorn this early?"

"Sorry for waking you up," Adam said; his tone didn't quite register the apology.

"I wasn't sleeping." Lawrence sat down at the kitchen table, picking up his bottle of painkillers and turning it over in his hand.

Adam set the bowl on the table and settles himself in the chair across from Lawrence; he stretched his arms out across the wide table, fingertips rushing over the grained wood and back.

"You need another one of those?" he said, gesturing toward the pills and stifling a yawn.

"Not yet," said Lawrence. He didn't put the bottle down; he simply continued turning it over in his hands. The large pills made a harsh clacking noise every time he did, and it was starting to grate on Adam's nerves.

"Can you stop that?" he said.

Lawrence looked at him strangely, but put the bottle of pills down on the table.

Adam helped himself to some of the popcorn, reaching into the bowl and grabbing a handful, then tossing it back into his mouth. After a moment, Lawrence took some as well, setting it down on the table and picking it up, piece by piece, with his fingertips before eating it.

"Do you always have to be so goddamn...well-brought-up?" Adam asked. Lawrence looked up at him as though he wasn't sure if Adam was joking; Adam realized that he wasn't sure either.

"Really, Larry," Adam continued, "you have the balls to fuck your secretary behind your wife's back, but you eat like a priss."

"Why do you call me that?" Lawrence said.

"What, a priss?"

"No. 'Larry.'"

"Am I not allowed to call you that anymore?" Adam said, unable to keep the sarcastic bite out of his words.

"No, it's...fine. It's fine," Lawrence said. He pushed his chair back and stood up.

"What the- ...where the hell are you going?"

"I'll be in the study if you need me." With that, Lawrence walked out; Adam jumped up and followed him.

"What the fuck is this?" Adam demanded; Lawrence turned to face him in the doorway of the study. "Are you just going to get up and leave every time I say something you don't like?" Something dawned on Adam then, and he couldn't keep himself from saying it. "Or does that remind you too much of the wife? Look, I'm sorry that she took off. Really, I am, and I don't know how many times I have to say that before you get it. It was a shitty thing to do, but you can't keep comparing me to her. You know why?"

Lawrence blinked at him, but didn't say anything.

"_Because I'm still fucking here_. If you don't like that, or if you've decided you hate me or something, I'll just-"

"Adam." Lawrence's voice was gentle.

"_What?_"

"I don't hate you."

"Okay." Adam arched an eyebrow; he hadn't been expecting this to go so easily.

"And I'm glad you're still here."

"O...kay," Adam said again. "Do you want some more popcorn or not? I made an entire goddamned bowl."

"I'll join you in a moment," Lawrence said, turning back to enter the study.

"_Larry_..."

"I have to shut the laptop off."

Adam stood by the door and watched as Lawrence quickly shut the computer down, then both of them made their way back to the kitchen, sitting on opposite sides of the table. The popcorn was beginning to get cold, but Adam took a fistful of it anyway.


End file.
